


Seven First Kisses

by BeaRyan



Category: The Order (TV 2019)
Genre: Chapter 3 mentions dub con, F/M, is this a slowburn yet or do they have to suffer another 5k words, silence subservience's and observance is red flag semiphore, small town fic, wealth as a social stratifier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28775274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: Chapter one (Cape Cod - Age 22) is rated G.Chapter two (Taco Truck - Age 25) is rated T.Chapter three (The Bar - Age 25.5) is rated M.Chapter four (Hamilton - Age 30) is rate G.Chapter five (Homecoming - Age 31) is rated T.Knowing The Order won’t tolerate a Grand Magus without power Vera takes preventative measures against their future actions.  Lilith gives her the same memory potion the Knights took but doesn't warn her that it not only undoes and prevents memory manipulation it clarifies past memories.
Relationships: Hamish Duke/Vera Stone
Comments: 24
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

Cape Cod - age 22 

Even after four years in The Order Vera still felt like an anthropologist when she spent magic-free time with rich people. Frankly, it was exhausting. Smiling and pretending she was one of them, pretending she too was indulged and hothoused her entire life. Part of her was disgusted that someone had hoarded so much wealth and knowledge they had a room full of first editions and rare books stuffed in a house they didn’t even live in most of the year, but a larger part of her was glad she’d found a place to take a breath. For too many days there had been too many people in too much brightly colored linen standing too close to her, all with ugly shoes. 

The salt air that permeated the rest of the house and frizzed her hair was thankfully absent here in the library. At least they’d had the sense to implement a good climate control system before leaving a half million dollars worth of paper at their summer home. She didn’t even know who the “they” was that she was scorning. Sofia had been guiding her through the circuit, moving from house to house all week, one party after another. 

It was supposed to be one last hurrah before Vera moved to Washington D.C. to manage The Order’s archive there and Sofia moved to Silicon Valley to intern for some tech bro who’d promised The Order his app would give them as much power and influence as any spell. It was turning out to be about as exciting as an all white buffet. Serving upon serving of white rice, mashed potatoes, whipped cream, and vanilla pudding. Not unpleasant individually per se but repetitious and bland. 

Two days to go. Two days until something interesting might happen and/or she could get back to a more structured form of interaction. Either would do. She barely even knew how to relate to people outside The Order anymore. Pretending she cared about sailing gave her a headache. Maybe there would be a remedy in one of the books. 

She scanned the shelves, looking for one bound in something exceptional. Human skin, dragon scale, leaves. Any of it could indicate a grimoire. It was amazing how often people thought they had old medical books not realizing that the chant intoned while applying ointment wasn’t targeted to Jesus. 

“If you’re looking for pornography the best you’re going to do is an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog in Kiefer’s sister’s room.” He closed the library door behind him then crossed to the desk and pulled open drawers searching for something. He was tall, blond, sunburned, and completely at home, although since he’d seemingly referenced the owners of the home it must not be his house. That didn’t mean he’d be OK with her being in here. 

“I have a headache,” she explained. “Just looking for a quiet spot before I beg Sofia to take me home.” 

“Sofia Cheney or Sofia Kepler?” 

“Kepler.” 

“I’ll drive you,” he offered as he closed the drawer. “She’s got at least an hour’s worth of flirting with my brother left in her. They’re each other’s ‘one that got away.’”

He had to mean Skylar, and now that he’d said it she could see the resemblance. She was face to face with one of the Prince brothers. Or maybe it was Earls. Some sort of romance novel royalty. Tall, blond, smart, and rich, and allegedly each with a cold, calculating streak. To be honest, none of that seemed exceptional to her among the current crowd, but the family name was “good” meaning they’d been rich long enough that people focused on their charitable donations and ignored how they’d made their money. 

“So which brother are you?” 

“Number four. The one down in North Carolina.” 

“What are you doing there?” 

“Mostly keeping my grandfather company and making sure he doesn’t give away the family fortune as he approaches the end.” He looked her squarely in the eye, assessing her reaction, then continued. “Jokes on them though. I’m taking classes at the Quaker college, and I’ve absorbed enough decency to be embarrassed by our obscene wealth.” 

“Not embarrassed enough to give it away.” 

He grimaced. “I’m willing to die for my beliefs but I haven’t yet evolved enough as a person to be willing to suffer for them.” 

“A few more classes might cure you of that.” 

“I’m sure when the time comes they’ll bundle me off to soak in a sea of inherited wealth.” 

She couldn’t help but laugh. He was the most self-aware person she’d met this week, or at least on the only one willing to publicly admit it. “I’ll take the ride home if your offer was sincere.” 

He dug in his pocket then held up his keys. “Ready?”

“I need to tell Sofia I’m leaving.”

“Meet me at the front door in five minutes?” 

She nodded, and he went back to digging through the desk drawers while she went to find Sofia and verify it was safe to get in his car.

Sofia’s look of shock sent a warning flare through her. Damn. Vera rubbed her temples. “I guess I can stay a little longer.” 

“No. No. He’s fine. I just didn’t know he was old enough to drive. He’s just always been Skylar’s little brother to me. They grow up so fast.” 

“He said he’s in college in North Carolina.” 

“Graduating made me feel old enough, and now you’re telling me Hamish is in college.” Sofia hugged her. “Get some rest. I need another drink.” 

On the drive back to Sofia’s family’s house Hamish pointed to a driveway nearly obscured by hedges. “That’s where you’ll be tomorrow night if you’re feeling better.” 

“Do I want to feel better?” 

“Do you like fireworks?” 

“On a random Thursday?” she asked. 

“I head back to North Carolina on Friday and brother number three will take any excuse to play with gunpowder.”

“Attention seeking?” 

“Probably. I’m the baby of the first set, so I at least had that attention for eight years, but Lawrence was always a middle child. Not even the spare in an heir and a spare, just a benchwarmer.” 

Vera relaxed into the leather of the seat and let him carry the conversation. Only undergrads navel gazed and overshared this much. It was familiar, comforting in its universality, and made her ache for the fresh crop of acolytes she wouldn’t see join The Order in the fall. 

He turned off the engine in the driveway then nearly ran around the car to open the door for her. The line between quaint and classic blurred and she decided to see it as charming. 

“You’ll come tomorrow?” he asked, his expression was open, eager, and for a moment she wished they had an extra week together.

"Sure." 

The fireworks were well beyond what she’d expected from an amateur show and twice as spectacular as they reflected off the water. His chest was strong and warm against her back as she shivered slightly in the breeze off the water. Strong arms around her then soft lips against hers and all was well very briefly. 

Sofia’s voice in her ear. “He’s seventeen. It’s ‘a few college classes’ because the rest of them are high school classes.” 

Nope. No. The end. 

At least she was leaving town tomorrow and could forget this ever happened.


	2. Taco Truck (Age 25)

Taco Truck - age 25

It was good to be back in Norwich, good to be back at Belgrave, good to be drunk off her ass with a herd of acolytes and magistrati eager to please her now that she was the acting director of undergraduate magical instruction. It was a nonsense title made up by a Temple Magus with no interest in teaching but it didn’t matter. She was back, she was home.

And soon she’d have a taco. Many tacos. There was nothing better than 2AM tacos after a night spent drinking and dancing. 

Well, some things were better but there wasn’t any of that available at the moment. 

Probably.

The girl in line behind her was giving her boyfriend hell, and frankly it was hilarious. Poor little thing had no idea what she was talking about as she complained, “It’s not about speed and power. You need finesse, too.” 

Snort. She should try dating a 47 year old. Then she’d know that speed and power mattered. So did stamina. Finesse was all well and good, but sometimes you just needed the kinks knocked out of your spine. 

“If you ever just go in guns blazing and start banging away like that again this is over,” the girl proclaimed. 

“You don’t mean that,” he said. 

“I do. Maybe it’s over now.” 

Vera spun around to face them and only wobbled slightly. Oh look. A classic hunk. “I’ll take him if you don’t want him.” 

“What?” he asked. 

She grabbed his shirt, pulled him down to her level, and kissed him. “Come at me. Guns blazing. Speed and power. Bang away.” 

A magistratus grabbed her from behind, spun her around, and guided her forward to place her order. Mr. Speed and Power was forgotten as her attention shifted to barbacoa with salsa verde in a soft shell.


	3. The Bar - age 25.5

The Bar - Age 25.5

Fuck the entire Order and especially the Temple Magus. After that lecture at the start of the school year about not getting drunk with the acolytes then he had the nerve to announce that he wanted to bring back sex magic. Don’t have a few drinks with the members but get ready to get down on the altar for the sake of manipulating the stock market. And PS it’s going to be a pop and lock. 

Pop and locks were outlawed for a reason; they were a freewill violation. Telling a person they were failing The Order if they didn’t agree to fuck for profit was dubious consent, but casting a spell to pop all inhibitions and then lock up the ability to talk about it afterward was well into involuntary territory. The Magus didn’t see it that way. In his view if you showed up then you consented to whatever happened. Silence, subservience, observance writ large. 

She’d do it, do anything for The Order - she always did - but she sure as hell wasn’t leaving it up to whoever strutted her way the day of the ceremony to break her dry spell. Some fool in this bar was getting it in tonight. On her terms. She needed someone horny enough to fuck a stranger in a dark but public spot but not so drunk as to be useless or violent. 

Maybe she should have gone somewhere closer to campus instead of manhunting in downtown Norwich. Junior partners in ill fitting suits bobbed rhythmlessly while slurping watery drinks and weighing the crowd against their own mental checklists. It was all very respectable and middle class and useless for her purposes. Where did people lurk when they were looking for a quick interlude? 

Fraternity row.

Street corners. 

Hotel bars. 

Hotel bar? Could she pick up a traveling salesman before hotel management decided she was a prostitute and invited her to leave? Her little black dress was as non-descript as it gets, tailored but not tight, form fitting but not revealing. Maybe that was why she was drawing glances but no one approached her. 

Probably it was her vibe. How did one lure in a normie? It was a question she’d rarely considered since freshman year. The Order dating pool was small, but dating outside of it required too many explanations she couldn’t give. 

On the way to the hotel bar she changed the black of her dress to red, added seams to her stockings, and made her heels an inch higher. The mirror at the reception desk failed to reveal if she looked like a lady or a lady of the night. Only one way to find out. 

The bartender was in no hurry, tending to a group in polo shirts emblazoned with matching corporate logos and that gave her a chance to assess her options before picking a seat. The couple at the far end were on a date, still wrapped up in the thrill of each other. Close to them was another couple, older, seemingly grabbing a drink after a day out before heading up to their room. Next was a younger man, blond and broad shouldered. Two empty glasses in front of him and staring at the bartender like he was trying to psychically summon a third. He’d do. 

She sat on the stool next to his and immediately doubted herself. Too obvious? Make him chase you? That wasn’t her style, and she wasn’t interested in wasting time. 

His longing gaze never left the bartender. 

She said, “He sure is taking his time. Is it always this slow?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Sorry. I thought you were staying here.” 

“Not yet.” He sighed. “I guess I should get a room.” 

She rubbed the back of his hand, trying to split the line between comforting and seducing. She’d planned on a dirty fuck but a slow and cozy screw would do just as well. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“”I asked her to marry me and she said no. Said we hadn’t lived enough yet.”

“Is she right?” 

He looked at her for the first time. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. You make choices and some paths are no longer yours to take. This seemed like the next step on our path.” 

“Sounds like you’ve been put on a his and hers path for a bit whether you like it or not. Better make sure the journey is scenic.”

His eyes flicked up and down her, assessing then realizing that he really was being propositioned. “I wouldn’t even know how to take the first step.” 

“Go get a room. If the bartender comes by what should I order for you?” 

“I’ve had two in half an hour on an empty stomach. Any more and I’m likely to embarrass myself.” 

Self-awareness was sexy, and she crossed her legs, drawing his attention to the slit in her skirt. He swallowed then let his eyes work their way back up her body. Whatever else might be going on in his head and his heart, his libido was working fine. “I’ll get a room.” 

She kept an eye on him as he checked in, trying to smolder every time he looked back at her. He seemed nervous but committed to seeing it through. At his age - she guessed barely 21 - his recent ex might be the only woman he’d ever been with. Fine enough. Vera was willing to help him get the life experience the other woman had ordered. 

In the elevator she crooked a finger at him, beckoning him closer. He was hesitant at first, as if he’d had it drilled into him that PDA was tacky and low class before remembering that was exactly what he wanted tonight. His kisses were desperate. Devouring. He backed her against the elevator wall then gripped her ass and lifted her up. She knew what he had in mind, a koala fuck up against the wall or at least a bit of grinding, but the tight skirt of her dress wouldn’t allow it unless she hiked it up around her waist and that was a ridiculous thing to do on a seven floor elevator ride. Instead she slipped her hand between them, running it over his chest then down past his belt.

The elevator stopped on his floor. He took a step back, catching his breath, considering what he was about to do, then held a hand out to her. 

His phone rang. 

Damn. 

He answered it. 

Damn again. 

“Cassie?” A pause while the person on the other end of the call spoke. “I’m on my way.” 

He ended the call then looked at Vera but failed to find words to tell her what she already knew. 

“Some other time,” she said. They rode the elevator back to the lobby. She didn’t offer her number and he didn’t ask for it.


	4. Hamilton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Sorry I didn’t post this before Cape Cod, but here we are. In this fic the Elizabeth Kepler we see on the show is the sister of Sophia Kepler-Coventry, the wife of Edward and mother of Maddox. Maddox Coventry called Elizabeth Kepler “Aunt Bitsy”, Bitsy seemed a little too thirsty for Edward to be his sister and a little too unenthusiastic about her role as Maddox’s caretaker to be in that role without familial obligation driving her to it. If she was just a member of the Gnostic Council grabbing a future power player she’d have told Maddox Edward was gone and worked on building his loyalty to her, but instead she told Maddox his dad was on a trip and he just needed to keep going like everything was fine. That’s a well intentioned but clueless aunt move IMO.

Vera sipped her old fashioned and tried not to smile as Bitsy shifted uncomfortably in her heels. She should have taken a lesson from Sophia and worn ballet flats or followed Vera’s example and adjusted to fabulous shoes years ago. It must be awful to be distracted from a show as amazing as Hamilton by your own footwear. If Vera didn’t take control of the conversation Bitsy would start complaining, and listening to nonsense proclamations just wasn’t part of the evening’s plans. Vera asked, “Do you think Edward used magic or his tech connections to get the tickets for girls night out?” 

“Probably a bit of both,” Bitsy said. “He is a powerful man.” 

That was one way to put it. Is it arrogance if you have the achievements to back it up? If you only managed those achievements because you were born to wealth and influence, both magic and standard, were they really yours? Questions like that weren’t asked within The Order. Every member of the Gnostic Council thought they were a self-made success, especially those who’d inherited their seats. 

Neutral smile. Neutral comments. Vera stretched a little taller and scanned the crowd. “I wonder what’s keeping Sophia.”

Bitsy seemed to realize that their hostess for the evening had been missing for nearly the entire intermission and she stood a little taller too, scanning the other side of the room. “There,” she said with a nod. “Damn.” 

“Damn?” 

“She’s with her high school boyfriend. Edward’s going to have a fit.” 

“So don’t tell him.” Jealousy made no sense to Vera. Few people could be trusted, but presumably you sorted that out before you married one. No sex partner was good enough to be allowed constant access to your house if the person providing that sex couldn’t behave when not in your direct line of sight. 

Bitsy grabbed Vera’s arm and pulled her through the crowd. “He took a picture. We need to get in there and get one with them so it looks like this was a group discussion and Sophia was never alone with him.” 

What nonsense. What crystal clear proof of Edward’s controlling nature or Bitsy’s dramatic one. Heaven forbid that in a crowded lobby Sophia would have a brief conversation with someone she knew 12 years ago. 

When she saw the women moving towards them Sophia’s smile lit up and the tension in her expression relaxed a fraction, suggesting she shared Bitsy’s concerns. 

Bitsy stepped into the conversation, putting her body between the ex and Sophia and demanded, “Let’s get a picture for Facebook.” She threaded an arm through Sophia’s then gestured to the spot beside her, pushing the ex further from Sophia. “Vera, get in here. And you,” she nudged the ex, “that’s one of your brothers? Get him in here, too.” 

Brother held out his hand for Bitsy’s phone. “Why don’t I just take the picture?” 

A few clicks and he handed it back then quietly waited for them to approve the pictures. 

Bitsy looked to Sophia. “Should I post it now?” 

“After the show.” There was something in her tone that sent up red flags for Vera, something that would have been explored in depth and dealt with if Sophia was one of her acolytes. She wasn’t. It would have to be a three martini interrogation and that would have to wait a few hours. Sophia turned her smile on Vera. “You remember Skylar and Hamish. You met them in Cape Cod.” 

Her trip to Cape Cod was eight years ago and, with the exception of one chatty high schooler, there was little about the men she’d met there to distinguish them from one another. As the two in front of her smiled neutrally she still saw few differences between them. Expensive clothes in a style someone had told them was timeless. Heirloom quality watches. Terrible haircuts they no doubt had touched up exactly every six weeks. “Good to see you again.” 

Hamish smiled, and she would have sworn she saw a twinkle in his eye. He must have heard that the high school kid had gotten one over on her. It would have been embarrassing if embarrassment was an emotion Vera allowed herself. She turned her attention on Sophia’s ex. “So what do you think of the show so far?” 

“It’s fun I guess, but a bit ridiculous.” 

“How so?” 

“Let’s take Angelica. As if she’d go traipsing around the city to listen to ideas and looking for ‘a mind at work.’ Nonsense.” 

Vera cocked her head as if she was interested and waited for him to hang himself.

He continued. “All that feminism. The idea that she’d think women and men were equal.” He actually scoffed. 

“So in your opinion when did women realize they were people?”

Skylar’s eyes blew wide as he spotted the landmine he’d stepped on. Hamish tried to hide a smile. 

“Is it demanding the right to vote that shows a group has become self aware? The American women’s suffrage movement was moving along quite well in the mid-1800s, but that wasn’t until several decades after Hamilton’s death. I guess I can track your logic there. You might want to keep those opinions to yourself though given what it also implies about your opinions of other minority groups. I don’t think I’ve ever before heard anyone suggest the Voting Rights Act of 1965 was a marker of human intellectual evolution.” 

“I… uh… that’s not what I meant.” 

Bitsy stepped away from the group and grabbed a photo of Skylar looking chagrined. No doubt that expression was one Edward would approve of. 

Sophia said, “You’ll have to forgive Vera’s intellectually aggressive approach. All that time on a college campus does things to a lady’s social skills.” 

The lights flickered, signaling the end of intermission and the Kepler sisters said their goodbyes to Skylar and his brother. Skylar had no words for Vera instead gesturing at his ear and the crowd in the increasingly loud lobby as his excuse for saying nothing. Hamish grasped her hand then leaned in and whispered in her ear, “It’s really good to see you again.” As he pulled back he brushed a kiss over her cheek, barely touching the corner of her lip, before he moved away completely and followed his brother through the crowd back to their seats.


	5. Homecoming - Age 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me which moments are Tundra and which are Hamish because I don't know. It's canon that a champion's relationship to the hide is complicated and they both are and aren't one person.

There really was no time like homecoming weekend to solicit donations from recent graduates. Vera had heard from colleagues at other universities that their alumni weren’t good for funds until at least a decade after graduation, but Belgrave didn’t have that problem. Most of her students were rich when they enrolled, rich when they graduated, and rich when they returned a few years later to look back nostalgically on college. Their young chancellor operated in the gray space between peer and parent to encourage them to open their wallets and support the programs that had given them so much. 

And if that didn’t get results she poured liquor down their throats and sent around current members of their old clubs with credit card readers attached to their phones to get program specific donations. Whatever got the job done. 

The philosophy department was hosting its mixer in the same room the classics department had used. White walls, white marble busts, white table cloths. The only colors were provided by the guests’ clothing and drinks. Cranberry seemed to be popular this year, but there was a strange abundance of blue drinks and sweaters. Green was the only color that mattered. What was it going to take to get the money she needed out of these students so she could put a new roof on Turpin Hall? 

“Can I pour something for you?” The man asking the question had found his way to the server’s side of the bar, but everything about him reeked of the philosophy department. He wore a collared shirt with the top button open and a comfortable looking but professionally tailored jacket. An attempt had been made to style his hair and he was worse off for it. 

She flashed her most charming smile and offered her hand. “Vera Stone. When did you graduate?” 

He shook it like he’d learned to give a proper handshake while attending an elementary school that required neckties. “Hamish Duke. I finished undergrad three years ago. Finished my masters in the spring.” 

Bingo. He loved Belgrave too much to leave. Did he love it enough to financially support it? “We’re grateful for your loyalty.”

“And yet this is the bar you provide to show it.” His smile was gentle, warm, but didn’t negate the comment. He was knife sharp but sheathed. A sword hidden in a cane. Not seeking to make trouble but more than ready for it when it arrived. 

A shiver ran through her as she recognized herself in a stranger. It was a rare type. Many people wanted you to believe they were harder than they were and still more were proudly, arrogantly cruel. A man who was capable of handling whatever challenges were presented to him was a man to be … appreciated. Put to use for the good of the university. 

She swallowed, her throat suddenly quite dry. “I’d show you where we keep the good stuff, but I’m afraid I can’t leave the party until we’ve raised enough money for a new roof.”

“Which roof?” 

It was a reasonable question - there were plenty of aging buildings on campus - but at the philosophy department mixer she was focused on the philosophy department’s auditorium. “Turpin Hall.” 

“You can safely sit under the stain shaped like Snoopy but those in the know avoid the A-bomb.”

“The A-bomb?”

“The series of nested, ring-shaped stains near the emergency exit.”

“In the budget meetings we call that the target, and I’m pleased to inform you we were able to get that one fixed. We just haven’t changed the ceiling tiles yet.” It had required bringing in an outside plumber who had refused to complete the work until an exterminator removed the bats from the crawl space. Belgrave was a gorgeous old campus, but sometimes the ‘old’ presented challenges. 

“How short are you?” 

“On the roof? Let me check.” She held up her phone then flipped through several screens to get to the current tally. “Forty-four thousand dollars.” 

“And for forty-four thousand dollars you’ll show me where you keep the good stuff?” 

From another man it would have sounded like a crude solicitation for prostitution. From him it was a sincere inquiry about the alcohol. If he bought his old department a roof, what sort of celebratory drink could he expect? “For forty-four thousand dollars you can have my entire almost full bottle of 28 year old single malt Laphroaig.”

“I thought you were joining me for this drink, not just handing a bottle to me. And Scotch? No, thank you. If I wanted to lick a bog monster I would.”

She laughed. If he only knew how readily available bog monsters were for the licking. Belgrave had a very inclusive matriculation policy. “If not Scotch then what?”

“I’m partial to mixed drinks.” 

“If you top off the roof fund you can mix my Belvedere Single Estate Lake Bartężek Rye Vodka with my 25 year old Rittenhouse single barrel rye whiskey.” 

“I am horrified by the idea of rye vodka but also intrigued. And I do like a whiskey that’s as old as I am. I might decline to mix them though. Two drinks are better than one after all. And if I was drinking with a companion like you I think I’d favor long, slow sips to savor the experience.” 

If you buy the roof you can do anything you like long and slow. Might let you do it even if you don’t buy the roof. 

Oh crap, had she said that out loud or was he psychic? The way he smiled. Aroused. Feral. A wolf in dork’s clothing. Any students in the area with heat sensitive vision would see she was glowing. Closer to him, drinking with him, would make her hotter. 

If you were going down might as well go down in flames. 

Or she could get her libido in check and do her job. 

She refused to let herself look him up and down. Better to focus on his lips. They were pale like the rest of him. He was just some alumnus who liked mixed drinks. Nothing remarkable about him. Not the broad shoulders. Not the well muscled chest. Not the tongue that darted out to lick his bottom lip before his straight, white teeth grazed over it. 

Teeth. He was a man who’d know about the proper use of teeth. The right way to bite. 

He asked, “You take American Express?” 

She plugged the adapter into her phone and took the offered card. Of course it was AmEx Black. No limit. Many perks. She glanced at the name, confirming that it was his and not in the name of one of his parents. She’d still have run it if it was someone else’s card, but she liked a little warning before she received an angry phone call and had to convince a millionaire not to be a cheapskate and cancel their child’s donation. 

Magic had taught her to be specific with her requests, and when she confirmed the amount of his donation she asked for what she wanted. “Forty-four thousand?” She smiled just enough to give him an out. 

“As long as you promise to keep the donation anonymous.” 

“If that’s what you prefer I can certainly accommodate you.” Who was he? Yes, she now knew his name was Hamish Duke but somehow he hadn’t been on her radar at all before today. What else had he done anonymously? Who was managing him? “Have you ever been inside Ethan Belgrave’s home?”

He tensed immediately. “I thought that was just a falling down old house somewhere out in the woods.” 

“That’s the home he gave his former first mate when they retired here and Captain Belgrave founded the university. We haven’t made it a priority to preserve items related to Vladimir Krosov, so Ol’ Tundra’s house was officially condemned in 2003. Ethan Belgrave was known as Graybeard by the end of his piracy career and his home, Gray Manor, has been preserved for its historic value. It can be booked for private events,” she handed him back his credit card, “or accessed by the chancellor when she’s promised a donor a drink or two. It’s where we keep the good stuff.” 

She’d known the donation would go through but the confirmation screen gave her a jolt of pleasure. One problem down, 99 to go, but that was still one problem down. On the way out the door with Hamish Vera caught her assistant’s eye and without lifting her hand from her side finger spelled a-n-o-n. Charlotte pulled out her own phone and her eyes blew wide before she recovered her expression and gave Vera a thumbs up. Any excuses that needed to be made for the chancellor’s absence at the rest of the party would be handled and laborers for the roof would be booked by the end of the week. 

XXX

Hamish was practically bouncing on his toes as Vera worked her magic to open the door to Gray Manor with her own house key. If she was more devoted to her magic-free chancellor imagery she might have carried a large key ring or called a facilities worker to unlock it for her, but she preferred to imply she had an uncanny knack for preparedness. She asked, “Would you like a tour?” 

“Of Graybeard’s home? I’d love one.” His grin was infectious, eager, as if he’d abruptly packed away the sultry millionaire who’d bought his way in and now he just wanted to romp around the playhouse. OK then. It wasn’t quite what she’d had in mind, but she was as up for a romp as for two long, slow drinks. 

“Right this way.” She swept open the door and let him enter. The first room, a large receiving room that was frequently emptied and redecorated for private events, had some spartan furniture around the edges, a hammock bolted to the walls in one corner, and four mannequins displaying a few of the captain’s favorite outfits. 

Hamish stood in the center of the room and slowly turned in a circle, taking it in. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.”

“Captain Belgrave spent his money on comfort. We have some of the grocery orders and they support the rumor that he liked his food indulgent and abundant. His clothes were fashionable for the time, but they’re also well made and comfortable.” She took Hamish by the hand and led him to a mannequin. “These pants are made from kid leather. Soft, supple, durable, and lightweight. You can touch it if you like.” She didn’t normally invite people to touch the displays, although some did.

“The athleisure wear of its day,” he said. 

“I’ve never thought of it that way before, but yes.” 

“Nice shoes.” 

She wasn’t sure if he meant hers or the captain’s boots so she simply smiled and nodded. “Let’s get a drink.” 

She led the way through the dining room and ducked into the butler’s pantry where the liquor was kept before emerging with two cut crystal tumblers and a bottle of the promised vodka. Hamish was sitting in a chair at the dining room table with his feet hooked into the support bar between the legs of the table. She never would have thought of using that piece as a footstool, but it seemed a certain sort of mind did. There was a worn spot on the wood, as well as a few marks assumed to be scratches from a large dog, exactly where his feet were resting. He looked up then shook his head as if drawing his mind back from wherever it had wandered. “It’s not a comfortable chair by today’s standards, but a cushioned chair at the dining table seemed like an indulgence after years on a damp pirate ship.” 

“I suppose so, but that’s the guest chair. Captain Belgrave preferred the seat by the fireplace. You’ll see that cushion is a bit more worn.” His donation was a relief, but her dreams of more personal relief were becoming more remote by the moment. Thank goodness for her iron self control. A lesser woman would pout when a day went off the rails like this. “Shall we see what they have in the kitchen for mixers or would you prefer to sip it straight?” 

“We can sip as we seek.” 

“As you wish.” 

“Princess Bride,” he acknowledged as he rose from the chair. “Great movie even though it downplayed the savagery of piracy. People often underestimate what children can and should understand.” 

Sure, let’s tell children about theft and murder as a viable path to wealth and heroism. He was hot and rich with a bit of ice in his soul. He must be an utter magic dud or he’d already have a spot in The Order. And Order men, with their tendency to fixate on selfish goals, were almost universally terrible in bed. How quickly could she finish these drinks? 

The kitchen had been gutted and updated for modern catering use. She found a few warm diet sodas in the pantry and ice in the ice machine. When she presented the options to Hamish he said, “I’m not much enjoying the taste of this for sipping, and diet soda would only prolong and intensify that experience. Looks like this just became a shot.” 

He held up his tumbler and she clinked it with her own then downed the drink. “The whiskey?” she offered. 

“Please. And then I’d like to see the rest of the house.” 

The house was most often rented for small but elegant weddings, and the two rooms at the front of the house upstairs were used as preparation rooms for the bridal party. The walls and windows were the only thing original to the house. Hamish wandered through them blankly, sipping his whiskey, as Vera explained the presence of modern couches and a vanity worthy of a movie set. 

Vera stopped outside the last door across the hall from the other two. ”The final room upstairs is the Captain’s bed chamber. It’s a little scandalous and typically kept locked, but if you’d like to see it I can unlock it.” 

“Scandalous for 1785 or scandalous for our times?”

“See for yourself.” She unlocked the door and went in first so she could witness his response to the room. The only item in it was a bed spanning from wall to wall and most of the length of the room. At 12 feet across and 15 feet long it was as wide as two modern king size beds and significantly longer. A six foot wide walkway ran beside the foot of the bed with hooks along the empty wall, presumably for hanging one’s clothes before crawling into the grossly oversized mattress area. 

She’d give Hamish this: his New England reserve barely cracked, and whatever emotion she did see flicker over his face was impossible to name. 

Finally he said simply, “Graybeard had quite a bed.” 

“Do you want the hottest gossip of the late 18th century or would you prefer to make up your own explanation for what you see?” 

“I honestly don’t know what to make of this, and if you don’t tell me it seems no one else will.” 

It was a weird way to ask for a history lesson, but it was more and more clear that something was off about him. Vera liked to think she was a good judge of character, and the longer she spent with Hamish the more she sensed a threat lurking beneath the surface. Possession? Chimera? Regular old human murderer whose neighbors would later say he seemed like a nice man but he kept to himself? 

If she wasn’t a little intense herself just thinking he might have graves in his backyard would inspire her to wrap up this private meeting, but once you’d violated the laws of physics, time, and economics not to mention the regular human legal system “normal” men didn’t stand much of a chance of getting your pulse to race. 

Maybe even back at the party she’d sensed something predatory lurked within him. Predatory. What a word to come to mind. In his tailored jacket and fully buttoned shirt he looked more ready to tell her to open the book to page 122 than to stalk her through the woods, pin her to the ground and ravage her in the dirt. 

Oh. 

That was a thought she’d come back to later. 

“Vera?” His voice pulled her back to the moment. “You were going to explain -” He gestured towards the bed. 

“Hmmm? Oh. Captain Belgrave -”

“Graybeard.” 

“Graybeard,” she confirmed, “was alleged to have quite warm feelings for his first mate.”

“Tundra?” 

“Correct, the first mate, Vladimir Krosov, was known as Ol’ Tundra. The first mate’s attention was focused on their cook, a woman. Some say the bed is this size to accommodate all three.”

“Interesting.” 

“Indeed, and perhaps not entirely baseless gossip. Two witnesses claim she stated, ‘I’d kill them both myself if I could only find a way to live without them.’ Whatever the truth of the relationship or ships is, there were certainly more than an average amount of feelings between them. They left the continental navy together and all lived in the area until they died.”

“Where did Timber live?” he asked.

“Timber? Do you mean Evelyn Woods? The cook?” 

“Yes. Her.” 

“Her residence is unknown. She had a private office in Belgrave’s first academic building, and those who choose to discount the rumors of a romance with one or both men tend to believe she lived there.”

He stared at the bed then sighed and leaned against the wall and stared some more. Finally he said, “I guess I’ve learned all I’m going to today.” 

“We’ll never know how many people regularly shared the bed. They left no firsthand accounts on the topic, few visitors came in the house, and the only record was about the hair.” 

“The hair?” 

“The captain denied letting his hunting dogs in the house, but we do get cold winters and the woman who scrubbed the sheets told anyone who’d listen that he let them snuggle for warmth in the bed. The hair and the muddy footprints on the sheets made her raise her rates for the house.” 

Hamish nodded and bit his lip as if restraining a smile. “Hair and mud. What other way could that get in the bed if not from his dogs?”

His smile was knowing, and she wanted to know what he knew that she didn’t. Was he kinky? What kinks involved hair and mud? Nothing that compelled her. Well. Not entirely true. Properly pulled hair was a certain kind of pleasure, but that wouldn’t result in shedding on the sheets. 

Oh no. Was Hamish hairy? A manly chest pelt that grew right over his shoulders and down his back? What an unappealing thought. 

She tried to size him up without getting caught looking, but the only hint was the space between his shirt collar and his haircut and that was obviously tended by a barber. No obvious stubble, but he was fairly fair haired and well groomed so she wouldn’t expect to see any. His sleeves were long enough that he’d have to truly be a beast for hairs to show past them. He was a fabric wrapped mystery, and he was going to stay that way. “All done with your drink?” she asked and held out her hand for the glass. 

He surrendered it. “I am. Thank you.” 

She gestured to the door, and he left the captain’s bedroom and proceeded downstairs before she’d even had time to lock up. She dropped off the glasses in the sink - catering could deal with them - and caught up to him in the dining room. He was holding onto the back of the same chair he’d sat in before, squeezing it as if he was trying to juice it for knowledge. Maybe he did have some magic in him. She’d done the same with objects from the reliquary to get a feel for what she was unleashing before it all spilled out on the altar. “Anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Duke?” 

“It’s time to take a shot.” He fixed his gaze on her. “I am not throwing away my shot.” 

“Are you quoting Hamilton?” 

He crossed the room without further comment, grasped the back of her neck, tugging her hair just so and tilting her head upward, then leaned down and kissed her like a man headed off to war or just returned from one, and damn if it didn’t send a flash of heat through her. Too long since she’d been kissed by someone who knew what he wanted. Too long since she’d been wanted. Too long. Far, far too long since. 

And she let the kiss go on too long. By the time she pressed her hands against his chest and forced herself to step back she was flushed and panting for breath. Trembling she whispered, “You’re a student.” 

He shrugged. “I’m a donor.” 

“That’s worse.” 

“Worse?” 

“Well it’s not better.” She ran a hand through her hair, shoving it back into place while trailing her fingers over the spot on her neck he’d touched. It should have been his fingers there still. Grasping. Tugging. “You have to go.”

“That’s what you want?” 

No. It wasn’t. But it was what she had to do. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I’m an administrator. You’re a student. This wasn’t assault -” that got his attention “-or harassment. It was just a misunderstanding. Now you’re going to leave, tell no one, and we’ll pretend this never happened. It was just a harmless misunderstanding.” 

“A misunderstanding.” He looked defeated, then the façade slipped back into place and shadows hid the hurt in his eyes. Even his voice seemed deeper, sharper, when he said, “The memory is crushed. It’s as if this never happened.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I really don't know how you slow burn fans live like this. 
> 
> 2\. There’s been Anakin Skywalker hair discourse on my Tumblr dash and the temptation to refer to Hamish’s hair as hammered bronze, amber sunbeam or chestnut honey was fierce. Sometimes fan fic culture comes for you and I fought to get this one through the fray without a phrase that would yank you hard out of the story and into giggles and knowing nods. This is your laughter break. Orbs.


End file.
